Outside Looking In
by PapayaK
Summary: This is a series of one-shots of outsiders observing different members of our team. Can be anyone from any time. or animals. even inanimate objects. I will accept suggestions/prompts, but I make no promises about how my muse will react to them. I am marking this complete since each chapter stands alone, but will continue to add more stories as they come to me. Thanks for reading
1. In the Park

(this might be my favorite one ever)

oO0Oo  
In the Park  
oO0Oo

"Okay - what about that bunch?" Jenny asked, pointing.

"That's too easy. Totally a group of friends from work." Ann answered.

"Well, what about them?"

"Hmm. Mother and daughter, but the daughter's visiting from out of town."

"How about her? What's her story?"

Ann nodded. "Single mom. At least three kids. This is probably the first time she's been able to sit down all day."

It was one of their favorite games. They'd stop at the park on their way home from school and 'people watch.' Sometimes they looked for cute boys. Sometimes they picked apart people's outfits, and got some ideas for their own. But their favorite pastime was 'Who are these people?' They'd pick someone - or a pair - or a group and try to guess their circumstances.

"Take those two couples over by the pond…" Ann nodded in their direction. "The pair on the left is on like a first or second date. The other two have been together for a long time - but they still like each other."

"Well, that's too easy…" Jenny scanned the park looking for someone more challenging. "Okay… what about _them_?"

"Hmm… interesting." Ann turned to scrutinize the two men walking together. The taller one adjusting his long stride to match the shorter man's who walked with a limp.

"Where do you think he got the limp?"

Ann shrugged. "Hard to say - he could have been born with it… but maybe… just maybe…" She got the light in her eyes she always did when she was about to spin a fanciful tale.

This was why they liked this game. Every time they played, they started out serious, but sooner or later the stories would start getting sillier and sillier.

Jenny grinned at Ann and waited.

"They're super heroes." She announced. "I mean, seriously - the taller guy is fit, dark and mysteriously handsome. And the way he kinda looms over the littler guy means he's there to protect him."

Jenny jumped in. They rarely saw anyone so perfectly fitted to their game. "Yeah! And the shorter guy is like the mastermind. It's like Professor X walking with Wolverine."

Ann nodded. "Or Cyclops!"

Jenny continued. "He might need his own character - he kinda moves like a panther."

"Ooh - I like it! 'Panther' - that's what we'll call him." Then she grabbed Jenny's arm and pointed. "And look! Here comes Rogue! Or maybe Storm. Only with black hair."

"Well - she's in disguise of course."

And the girls giggled about the unusual trio until they were out of sight...

If the surveillance camera above their heads could have smiled - it would have.


	2. Joan

oO0Oo  
JOAN  
oO0Oo

"How were things at the shelter today, Hon?" Melody Winger asked her husband as they sat down to dinner. He'd been so much happier and more relaxed since he'd quit his job to start working at a homeless shelter.

"Good." he answered thoughtfully. "Met someone new today."

Those words were always sad. It meant someone who had only recently lost their home. It meant he was helping someone who was going through what was probably the worst time in their life. She waited for him to continue.

"Her husband came back from overseas in a bad way. She didn't go into any kind of detail - they never do when they're new - but he'd seen too much. He couldn't face life here. She tried everything to get him some help, but it didn't work. In six months he'd been in and out of jail, and drank them into debt. Eventually he just left."

"Leaving her alone - with no resources." Melody commented sadly. "Any kids?"

Mark shook his head.

"Thank goodness for small favors."

He nodded. "She wasn't at all bitter, though." He took a deep breath. "Said she couldn't help him, but maybe he'd find someone who could look after him." He smiled ruefully and shook his head. "Said she'd keep an eye out at the shelter for people like him. Maybe someday she'd find someone she _could_ help."


	3. Finch

oO0Oo  
FINCH  
oO0Oo

"Mommy - there's that weird guy again. Why does he do that, Mommy? Why?"

Veronica Dell looked up from where she was tucking a warm quilt more firmly around her 4 month old in the stroller, to see what her 4 year old was talking about. "What guy do you mean, Mikey?"

Mikey pointed to an older man wearing a nice suit and hat, sitting on a bench looking out at the water.

"Why do you think he's weird?" She asked, puzzled, and not wanting her son to insult random strangers.

"He eats ice cream in winter." Mikey's voice spoke volumes about how unnatural he considered this behavior.

"Some people just like ice cream, dear. It's not 'weird.'"

"But he always gets TWO!" Mikey protested, defending his opinion of the man's 'weirdness.' "And he _never eats the other one!_ "

As she watched, the man stood, finished one cone, and then stepped forward to the railing where he gently placed the other cone. He stood there for a moment and then walked away. Veronica frowned in concern as she listened to her son run back towards the play equipment.

The odd man just seemed so sad.


	4. The Boy on the Bus

oO0Oo  
The Boy on the Bus  
oO0Oo

A/N - By the way, in case anyone was wondering, I get nothing but pleasure from this…

oO0Oo

Gwen Rardin was worried.

When her son, Max had come home from baseball practice today, he'd been very quiet. Usually he was full of tales of who hit one (nearly) out of the park - who Coach had yelled at - who was going to be first at bat for Saturday's game... Today he'd dropped his equipment by the door and gone straight out to his tree house.

Concerned, she'd tried calling him down, but had finally climbed up to talk to him. That was when he'd finally told her what he'd seen on the bus: A man: quiet, almost sleepy, who'd had _a lot_ of blood on his shirt.

"It was worse than the time Jimmy cut his finger! I asked him if he was okay, Mom. I asked him what happened to him. He said the weirdest thing. He said, 'I think I quit my job,' Then he buttoned up his coat and got off at the the next stop." His big eyes looked up at hers. "What did he mean, he quit his job?" Before she could respond he'd told her what he was _really_ worried about: "Dad's not going to quit his job, is he, Mom? 'Cause I don't think it's a very good idea."

She'd hugged him then, and reassured him that Dad had no intention of quitting his job for a very long time, and not to worry about strange men on busses.

Now, Max was in bed and she was watching the news. The lead story was of a brutal and bloody murder in New Rochelle. They hadn't found a body, but the police were saying there was too much blood for the victim to have survived, although they would continue to search. Poor guy had lost his wife a little while ago only to come home to someone waiting to kill him.

She was no detective, but she couldn't help but wonder about the man on the bus. Could the two be connected? Should she get involved? Call someone?

She decided she wanted no part of any of it. She generally believed that everyone had some good in them, and she could not understand what kind of horrible things had to happen to people to twist them into cruel, violent, murderous creatures.

What could this poor, innocent, grieving husband possibly have done that would attract the attention of such a monster?

Was it possible her sweet boy had ridden the bus - even spoken with one of these monsters? She was horrified.

She knew one thing for sure: that was the last time Max would ride the bus home from practice.


	5. The Bride's Sister

oO0Oo  
The Bride's Sister  
oO0Oo

Carrie had tried not to be jealous. She really had. But she had always lived in her sister Katie's shadow. Sports, grades, boys - even a part in the school play - Katie always got what Carrie wanted. And Katie was older, so Carrie had always been told to grin and bear it.

There was one notable exception to this rule.

Her senior year of college, Katie had decided she had one last chance to 'sow some wild oats.' And she had started dating someone she knew she shouldn't.

Lance was fun. He was wild and dangerous. He drove fast and recklessly. He hung out with the wrong people. He was everything she should have avoided, and she knew it. She liked it. She revelled in it.

Carrie tried to tell her. But she wouldn't listen. Carrie begged her. Katie laughed and drank another beer.

There was one bright spot, though. It was the only time in her life, that _Carrie_ was the 'golden child.' Her parents were so proud of the way she was trying to help Katie do the right thing.

But only a couple months later, Katie broke it off with Lance. She settled down. She fought to bring up her grades and managed to graduate with honors. Of course.

Carrie smiled and took pictures.

A month after she graduated Katie met Michael (don't call him Mike). He was like her. They were perfect for each other. Their families were perfect for each other. Six months later they were engaged, and Carrie was flung into the "joys" of planning a wedding for four hundred guests. No one thanked her.

And of course - on their wedding day - everything was perfect.

And Carrie was miserable.

But then - much to her secret delight - Lance showed up! The wedding was ruined!

Carrie would never wish grievous bodily harm on anyone. Ever. Especially not her sister! But…

The only thing anyone would remember about Katie's wedding was how it all went horribly wrong. Carrie could confess to finding some satisfaction in this.

Unfortunately, her pleasure was short lived. She never would have guessed that Lance was actually serious. But as the seconds ticked by, it looked more and more like he was!

" _I told you - If I can't have you - no one will. No one - Katie - No one."_

Then - just as suddenly as he had appeared, it was over.

There was a gunshot. And for a second, Carrie was terrified that Lance had shot Katie. But then - "Congratulations!" came the cheerful greeting from the ridiculous, yellow sports car.

Carried stared - the image before her burned on her retinas.

The sports car was a bit outrageous, but the man in the passenger seat? In those brief seconds, Carrie memorized his every feature.

In the nights following, she fantasized about him: There were a few things that were obvious: He was handsome - gorgeous, even. He was fit - lithe - not muscle-bound… He was skilled with firearms. (She found out later he'd shot Lance in a spot that would so damage the nerves down his arm that he _could not have_ pulled that trigger. - How did he know that?) And the simple fact that he'd let that woman drive told her he was so secure in his masculinity he had no need to 'take' control… he already had it. And seriously - if he had been driving that thing Carrie would have been convinced he was compensating for something.

She may or may not have wanted him.

What she really _wanted_ was to be him.

She changed her major from law to law enforcement. She began looking into what it would take to join the CIA. No one would look down on her ever again.

Then - one day - everything changed because a pay phone rang.

She was eating her lunch in the park and, of course, ignored it. But it wouldn't stop. Twenty, thirty rings and it was just getting on her nerves. She walked over and answered, and what she heard, changed the course of her life for a second time. A mechanical voice, sampled from different sources said, "Do. Not. Follow. Him…" a brief pause, then, "Please. Care. Eee."

That day she stopped trying to become him, and started trying to find him.

oO0Oo  
Please review if you have a moment.  
Suggestions for future stories are welcomed…  
oO0Oo


	6. A Man with His Talents

A/N Recently got Season One out of the library and found that the 'Special Features' included an un-aired "Producer's' Cut" of the pilot. Quite a bit of new footage. I recommend watching it if you can get your hands on a copy.  
This was written in response to one of Finch's (later deleted) lines in the hotel room while John has him pinned up against the wall: _"A man with your particular skills could make a great deal of money in some corners of this world but you don't do it."_ And then he continues… " _I think all you ever wanted to do was protect people."_

Each of these brief exchanges would, logically, occur in a different language.

 **oO0Oo  
** **one  
oO0Oo**

"NO! I only want the best. Get me Reese."

"I'm sorry, Sir. I tried."

Bang.

"Get me Reese. And clean that up."

 **oO0Oo  
two  
oO0Oo**

"Have you contacted our new talent, yet?"

"Yes, I was able to track him down, and I'm afraid I have bad news. He claims he is not for hire."

"A man with his talents? Men like him all have their price. He is the best. Find out what he wants and pay it."

oOo  
Two days later  
oOo

"Well?"

"I'm sorry sir. He is not for hire."

"Unfortunate. Then kill him."

"Very well."

oOo  
The next day  
oOo

"Where's Phillips?"

"Police found his body last night."

 **oO0Oo  
** **three  
** **oO0Oo**

"Who do you recommend for this... unpleasant task?"

"John Reese, Sir. You won't find anyone better at making these kinds of problems disappear."

"Get him."

"Of course."

oOo  
A week later  
oOo

"I'm sorry to report that Reese seems to have disappeared."

"Perhaps he was not as talented as you thought. Perhaps someone got to him."

pause as the boss leaves, then, sotto voce: "I doubt it… If a man with his talents doesn't want to be found - he won't be."

 **oO0Oo**

Unless you happen to be a very private person who's good with computers...


	7. The Suit

A/N - as I thought about _this_ offering, I realized you could go about a hundred different directions. This is just one.  
I may write another someday.

oO0Oo  
The Suit  
oO0Oo

I was born in December of 2013 at Gianni's in La Via Palestro. I have a few older brothers, and a couple younger ones. None of us expects to live very long.

Since this is a private conversation, I will confess to feeling a bit superior to my brothers. Several of them are… pardon my 'french'... ' _off the rack.'_ The rest are sub-par handiwork, even _with_ Finch's occasional, but excellent alterations. This is part of the reason that I suspect I may live at least a little bit longer than they. Not surprisingly, John only takes me out when something special is happening. Something special - an event at which my brothers would feel quite out of place.

Last week we lost two of our family. That's a lot for one week - even for John. That's the problem with our kind. Unlike _your_ kind, we are normally disposed of rather than healed. We could be healed, but it's an expensive and time consuming process. It is possible that I am the only one of the family to be considered worth it. We understand this, and expect it. It is good to understand your place in the universe.

One of the brothers went because he gave himself to protect John from a horrible case of something with the crass name of 'road rash.' The other, because of a large, bloody hole. Unfortunately, John received a matching hole.

Now, due to the loss of our brothers, it looks like John won't be taking any of us out for a while. Unlike us - he will need time to heal.

We do not understand much of what he does. But we all agree that he is a good man. And each of us will willingly go with him, and offer what meager protection we can. Even if it means our life.

John is worth it.


	8. Man's Best Friend

A/N Really wanted to write a Bear story - still working on it. This will do in the meantime…

oO0Oo

Yet another fantastic day at work. Found some bombs, saved some lives, got some kibble. All in all, a great day. Now I've got some work to do on this new rawhide bone Master got me. It's the good stuff. Came from home.

Master's bedding down. He commands me to bed down next to him. Okay - but the bone's coming with me.

"He sure loves that thing, Danny."

I look up at the voice. That's John, Master's friend. He's trying to learn the Words of Command, but he doesn't say them right. It sounds strange from him. But he and Master act like litter-mates - like pups, so I listen to him even when he stumbles. He is getting better.

The light goes out and I rest. Morning comes early.

oO0Oo

Today was not a good day.

My leg hurts. I want to chew it - to lick it. But I am not allowed.

I don't understand what happened. But it's bad. I found three bombs, but the fourth was a problem. I don't know why, but when I signalled to Master that there was a bomb, he did not react. It was as if he didn't hear me. Then he stepped on it. I don't remember much after that.

My leg hurts.

Where is Master?

"Hey, Duke. How ya doin'?" A hand ruffles behind my ears in the way that I like. It's John. One of his front paws doesn't work.

I whine, asking for Master. John understands.

"I know, Duke. I know. I'm sorry. Danny's not coming back for ya." His face is wet. "It's okay. You did good. That area had been cleared. There wasn't supposed to be anything there. But you knew better, didn't ya? We shoulda listened. You're a Good Dog." He buries his face in my fur. He's just a pup. He needs Comfort. I can give that.

He continues to murmur all the right things, but I know that nothing is alright anymore. For either of us.

Master is gone.

What will become of me?

What will become of John?

oO0Oo

A/N I recently watched a documentary on dogs like Bear (and Duke). Amazing animals!

Thanks for all the great suggestions. Don't worry - I'm working on them! Along with at least two other POI stories...


	9. Changed

A/N - a few thoughts on the long term results of the work done by John and Finch.  
(Nope - *checks pockets* - still not making any profit from this)

oO0Oo  
Changed  
oO0Oo

"I'd like to thank you all for coming out today to help me show our appreciation to a man who has volunteered here at the Neighborhood Center for longer than most of us and has put more of our kids onto the right path than anyone I know."

o0o

"He saved my life…"

*applause*  
o0o

"If not for him, I'd be doing and selling drugs… or worse…"

*applause*  
o0o

"The night I met him, I was on my way to my first night working a corner… He changed my life…"

*applause*  
o0o

"He looked after both my boys while I was inside... Helped me get back on my feet…"

*applause*  
o0o

"He's my samurai!"  
Scattered laughter from the crowd.  
"Most of y'all know what I'm talkin' 'bout."

*applause*  
o0o

"And now a word from the man himself!"

oO0Oo

"Y'all know I don't want to be here."

More scattered laughter.

"You say I saved you. You say I changed your lives - but I didn't do that - you did. If I was able to help with that, it is my honor…and my duty to the man who changed mine.

You see, most of you don't know MY story. How I would be serving a life sentence or worse right now if it weren't for a man who stepped into my life at just the right time."

You could have heard a pin drop in the modest meeting room at the neighborhood center - a place where kids could hang out and maybe find something to keep them away from gangs and drugs.

"I never knew my dad. And my mom died when I was just a kid, so it was just me and my brother, Travis. He was a good man, my brother. Looked out for me - and for a lot of other people, too. He was lookin' out for a waitress who was getting hassled by some punks one day - only those same punks came to our home that night and shot him dead.

I had a heart full of revenge. You know how much I love to play my trumpet? I pawned it to buy a gun.

I found one of the men who killed my brother. I pointed my gun at him. I pulled the trigger. But a man came outta nowhere and grabbed my arm. Kept me from killing him. Got him arrested instead.

Then he helped me take down the entire gang… Well - HE took them down - with the help of a couple good cops. Let me think I was doing it. They are in prison to this day - the ones that are still alive.

But the thing that really made the difference… The thing that changed my life… it wasn't that I got my revenge. That wouldn't have brought my brother back. It was that he never treated me like the punk I was. He showed me what honor was - dignity. He showed me that it didn't just exist in comic books. He showed me that heroes come in many different forms. He treated me like an equal - although I was far from it. Never spoke down to me. Never treated me like I was something less. He treated me like a man. And that was when I became one.

If you feel your life was saved - or changed - or re-directed… You should be thanking him.

If you want to - you can honor him - and me - by helping set a kid straight. Carry on the legacy.  
I never saw him again. I never learned his name. But I called him Reese. He saved me. Remember him when I'm gone."

oO0Oo  
I think this one will have a sequel… Stay tuned.  
oO0Oo


	10. Changed - Part 2

After the applause died down and people began to disperse, Darren McGrady noticed an older man watching him.

He finished his current conversation and moved towards the back of the room. The mysterious man was only a few years older than himself, but was already showing some gray at his temples, reminding Darren of his own aches and pains - and of Reese..

When he reached him, the man put out his hand. "Darren McGrady?"

Darren nodded and shook his hand. "And you are?"

The man smiled. "Carter. Taylor Carter. I am honored to meet you."

Darren shook his head, gesturing at the dwindling crowd. "You shouldn't believe everything you hear."

Carter chuckled. "I don't, don't worry. But you and I share something in common. John Reese saved us both."

Darren stared. "You knew Reese? John?" Finally, he knew the man's first name.

Carter smiled. "Yeah. My mom was the lady detective that helped you put those guys away."

Darren's jaw dropped.

His new friend explained. "The mob kidnapped me to try to get my mom to cooperate. Reese rescued me." He sobered. "My mom died saving his life."

Darren frowned, thinking of the loss of his own mother. "I'm sorry." He said softly.

Taylor nodded. "Thanks - it was a long time ago. After that, he checked in with me once in a while - see if I was okay - if I needed anything. But eventually he just stopped coming… I figured somebody finally got the drop on him. I knew I was right when, about a year after he disappeared, a woman stopped me in the street and handed me a package. All she said was _"John Reese should be remembered."_ There was a note inside. It said… well, here." He handed Darren a sheet of paper.

 _Reese cared about people. He never had any 'things' he cared about. But in later years, he started keeping a few items around. You will find those items in this package. He left no explanations for any of them. Probably worried someone could be hurt for being connected to him. I didn't know him well enough to understand. Finch would've known, but he's gone now, too.  
Do what you want. If you throw this away, no one will know the difference. But if you choose to - you can try to find the people who will understand. You always were a smart kid, and I liked your mom.  
Good luck._

Darren looked up. "Items?"

Carter turned to the table next to them and poured a few items out of a manila envelope onto it. "Anything look familiar?"

Darren was suddenly struck with the strangest feeling. Until that moment he'd forgotten about the picture he'd drawn and handed to Reese the last day he'd ever seen him. A picture of Reese with his fourteen year old self beside him as a sidekick.

" _Would you look at that? I always wanted a sidekick… thanks."_

He could hear Reese's voice in his head as if the words had been said yesterday. He pawed through the items on the table looking for the drawing. It was an odd assortment: a bullet, a photo of a young Reese and a blond woman that had brown stains around the edges, an earbud, a plane ticket to Istanbul… the largest item was a baseball. There were a few other odds and ends - but no drawings. Darren began to shake his head until he slid a delicate necklace to the side to reveal an ordinary quarter. He froze, remembering.  
 _"This… is my going rate."  
_ And then - sitting in the car, shortly after he'd handed over the photo, Reese had held up the quarter he'd given him. _"I'm, uh, still on the clock."  
_ Darren smiled softly as he picked up the quarter and turned it in his fingers.

Taylor raised an eyebrow.

"This was how I 'hired' him." He shook his head. "Can't believe he kept it."

Taylor nodded. "You can keep it if you want. I'm just glad I could find you."

Darren shook his hand again. "Thanks. It means a lot."

oOo

For many years afterward, there was a small picture frame hanging above the door of the Neighborhood Center. In it was a single quarter. If you asked around enough, sooner or later you would find someone who knew the story. It was a story of honor, courage, change, and hope.

oO0Oo

A.N - Who do you think that woman was? I don't know for sure myself, although I have a guess... Review with your idea - (If you feel like it. :-D) I'd also be interested if you have any ideas about what else might have been in the envelope...


	11. The A-Team (NOT a crossover)

A/N - A special thank-you to everyone who has left suggestions for future chapters. Please don't think I'm ignoring you. I am pondering each one, and I really hope my muse will cooperate because they are all great ideas!  
This one came from StarlingJedi who said: "How about something from the POV of one of the SWAT team raiding the Library at the end of "Deus Ex Machina"? I often wondered what must they have thought of the abandoned library, and the computers and the pictures and the dog bed?"  
Here you go, StarlingJedi - I hope you like it.

oO0Oo  
The A-Team (no- it's not a crossover)  
oO0Oo

(As always - I am not profiting from this is any way other than the joy that I get from the reviews- thank-you!)

oO0Oo

When I graduated from the academy and became one of the NYPD's finest I was excited - terrified, maybe - but excited. I was ready to make a real difference in the world. And for several years, I thought I was. I had one of the best arrest records in my precinct.

When I got a position in the ESU, I was proud. It felt like proof that I was doing my part to make the city a better place to live. I was leaving the misdemeanors and the drug pushers to someone else and taking down the really bad guys. Next I set my sights on the A-Team.

The Apprehension Tactical Team or "A-Team" was the elite of law enforcement in NYC. They participated in most of the city's more notable criminal take-down operations, so that was where I wanted to be.

Now I'm in my second year with the A-Team and it's everything I hoped it would be. It's intense and the hours are long and some of the people I work with are a little crazy, but I'm doing what I love. I'm making a difference.

Recently though, we had an assignment that made me question what we do.

We were briefed that this was the hide-out of some of the worst criminals the city had ever seen. We were told that certain alphabet organizations had been hunting these guys for years and couldn't find them. We had. Now all we had to do was go in and take them down with extreme prejudice. We were warned that this group of four - possibly up to seven perps - would be better armed, more highly trained, more violent, and more desperate to escape than perhaps any we'd seen before.

Needless to say tensions were running high on the ride over.

The location was the old library. I actually went here as a kid. It was a haven from the rest of the world and I had a lot of good memories there. It made me furious to think that someone had taken it and twisted it. Used it to hurt and to destroy lives when for so many years it had stood for all that is good in this city.

I don't think that's what happened though.

When we went in, I expected to see the usual: filth, garbage, drug paraphernalia, weapons and ammo. I figured I'd see rare books and art that had been used for target practice or worse. I expected the usual feeling of needing a shower afterwards - just from the atmosphere. And at first, I wasn't that far off. The lower levels were trashed. But we continued our sweep.

Everything was quiet. Absolutely silent. The only sound was our own carefully light footfalls. It was eery and I worried that some of our newer members might get skittish. They are highly trained, but they're only human.

On the upper floor, we finally found what had to be their HQ. But I still didn't see anything like what I was expecting. The first thing I noted after clearing the room was an advanced computer set-up. That wasn't so surprising since a lot of the bigger monsters are going digital these days. But that's where the similarities ended. This was organized, efficient, and clean. The floor was carefully swept. There wasn't even dust on the shelves. There was no evidence of drugs or even alcohol. Instead there was some soup, dry packets of noodles, coffee, and loose tea near a mini fridge and microwave set off to one side. This was a place where people worked - where things got done.

I'd expected a cesspool. What I found felt more like a sanctuary.

Up here, every book was on the shelves and a quick glance told me they were as ordered as if old Mrs. Welsh was still tending them.

Some of my teammates started to trash the place in their 'search', ripping out drawers, smashing and tipping things over. I get it - when adrenaline is pumping that hard and you are expecting to be in the fight of your life, it's hard to turn that off. Sometimes it has to go somewhere. And some of the guys really hated it when it turned out a team with our level of skill was unnecessary. No one wants to feel useless. But the wanton destruction made me sad and I had the distinct feeling that if the occupant saw this he might weep.

I began to wonder if law enforcement had any place being here at all. There was a dog bed for pete's sake! A nice one with some toys and rather expensive kibble nearby - as if someone had really cared about this dog. These were not our usual brand of criminals. I wondered if they were criminals at all.

Instead of feeling like a conquering hero, I felt like an intruder here to defile and desecrate.

I moved on from there to help clear the rest of the floor and found even more anomalies. I found a closet with some nice suits and shirts in it. There was a cot in a quiet corner, a feather pillow at one end, covered neatly with a clean blanket. In one of the reading rooms I saw an old leather couch with a small lamp next to it. An ancient book with a well preserved leather cover sat on the table next to it. A bookmark was visible as if someone had just set it down and had expected to return.

I did finally spot some alcohol. In a cupboard in one of the back rooms were some dusty bottles of wine, and a couple bottles of whiskey - the good stuff - better than what I could afford on my salary. One of the whiskey bottles was was about a third gone.

The bathroom was my last chance to find some incriminating drug paraphernalia. But it was very clean except for a few, rather expensive, high quality men's toiletries, and - oddly enough - a couple toothbrushes. In my experience, criminals are just not that big on dental care.

On my way back to the computer room I saw that one of my teammates had finally found some drugs. They were inside a red bag - part of an extensive first aid kit. Some of them could be misused - narcotic pain relief and the like, but I had a feeling that's not why they were there...

The thing that seemed most out of place was the list. There had been a list of numbers in the computer room. A list with pictures, notes and news articles pinned to them. I headed back to there with new purpose. I decided I needed to get eyes on it before the detectives or whoever came in and took over. I snuck out my phone and snapped a couple pictures of it so I could look into them later.

For the next couple weeks, my time off was busy as I looked into every person on that list. I combined information I found online with the notes from the board. They were all dead. Obviously my first thought was that these were the group's victims. That was the story being circulated by those in charge: Our criminals were hit men: expensive, highly skilled assassins.

But as I looked deeper that became less and less likely. The cases seemed too widely varied. And few of these people had enough money to attract the attention of high class criminals. I didn't buy the gun-for-hire story. It fit what we had found - it explained everything - but it didn't feel right.

A couple weeks later, I was lying in bed when it all came together for me: The closet. The closet I'd pulled open while searching for our quarry had held a couple of dark suits and several white shirts.

You had to be deaf and blind to be a part of the NYPD in the last few years and NOT know about The Man in the Suit.

That detective in the 8th had chased him for a long time without finding him and then rumor had spread that he'd been killed by a car bomb. That was the feds' story anyway. But I never completely believed he was gone.

If he was dead then someone was continuing his work.

The NYPD had _unofficially_ adopted a 'look the other way' policy where he was concerned. He was doing good work. And while I wasn't exactly in favor of vigilantes in general - in his case I was willing to make an exception. As long as he didn't cause any trouble, but continued to prevent it, I wasn't going to say anything and neither was anyone else. I was pretty sure the NYPD needed him.

Add the fact that in the weeks since our raid his work seems to have finally ceased, (crime is up all over the city) and I'm sure my theory is correct.

I also have developed a theory about the list. I don't think it's a list of their victims. I think it's a list of the people they tried… and failed... to save. I find that interesting because I would expect their HQ to be covered in records of their victories - not their failures. The existence of that list told me volumes about these men: These deaths were displayed - not as trophies - but as reminders of why they did their work - why they risked their lives to save people they had never met.

It torments me to think that I was part of the group that ended their valiant work. Sometimes I wonder if I should quit. If my unit is doing this kind of harm perhaps I should not be a part of it.

But then I get up in the morning and go to work. If The Man in the Suit and his friend(s?) are really gone, then it is up to people like me to take up the slack.

The world needs more people like them.


	12. The Crossing

A/N - This one was suggested by a 'guest.' Great idea, guest. I wish I could thank-you directly.

oO0Oo  
The Crossing  
oO0Oo

Grief and loss can be truly devastating. I'm a grief counselor. I know.

I spend all day, every day talking with people who have lost someone and there is a common denominator in those who suffer most: regret.

"Why didn't I tell them how I felt?"

"Why didn't I help them more?"

"Why didn't I spend more time with them?"

"Why did I wait so long to _?"

And the worst one:

"Why couldn't I… why **didn't** I save them?"

The other night I witnessed something horrible - I was out on my roof having a smoke, and I happened to look down at the police station across the street at just the right moment.  
Seeing a crime committed in New York City isn't all that unusual. This wasn't even my first murder. But this was different. This was 'a hit.' A man came out of nowhere and shot two people, a man and a woman. The man was badly hurt, but it didn't stop him from dragging himself to his friend - girlfriend - wife? He took her into his arms and held her. And as I watched, he lost her.

He was a big, strong guy, but I have never seen such tenderness. In the moments before she passed it was obvious that he loved her - cared about her - needed her.

I sincerely hope he has access to a good therapist because in my professional opinion, he'll need one. I couldn't hear what was said, but everything about the tableau screamed loss. He was devastated. He was filled with regret. He was broken - in every sense of the word.

Honestly, even if he survives his own injuries - and that's a big "IF" - even if he survives - it will be a long time before he begins to really 'live' again, if ever.

I pray he can find purpose in life. It is often the only thing more powerful than regret.


	13. Jessica

_A/N This is another wonderful prompt from a 'guest' who wrote: "From Jessica, set in the here and now?"_  
 _I'm not sure if this is what you had in mind. My first thought was, 'But Jessica's dead.' My second thought was 'Why should that stop me?'_  
 _I hope you like it._

 _I feel oddly compelled to mention that I do not believe in ghosts, that this story stands in direct opposition to just about everything I believe about life after death. But that's okay. This is just a story._

 _(my apologies to the Careesers out there… I hope you can see what I was trying to do.)_

 _and finally -still not making any profit off of this... still not intending any copyright infringement._

 **oO0Oo**  
 **Jessica**  
 **oO0Oo**

Oh John, my sweet John. If only you could have told me what you were really thinking.

I really believe I would have understood. I was there with you, you know, watching the towers come down. The world changed that day. We all changed that day. But in my small circle of friends, no one changed more than you.

I thought I understood. It made perfect sense to me that you would re-up. We needed the efforts - the protection of men like you.

But that wasn't it, was it? Not really. That was part of it, of course, but really you were bearing your own, horrible version of survivor's guilt. I wish you could have shared that part of yourself with me, but I know that if you had, it would have eased some of your pain, and you couldn't allow that.

I would have waited for you, _should_ have. I should have waited for you no matter what you said - or didn't say. But instead I settled for someone who was not you because no one could fill the John-shaped hole in my life. And he killed me.

You feel responsible for that, I know, but you shouldn't. Those were my choices. I could have escaped. I could've left him. I could have… oh, I don't know… NOT MARRIED the MONSTER in the first place! But I did. Those were my choices.

My death was only Peter's fault. That was his choice - his lack of control. No one else's.

oOo

I saw you. In the months following my death. How lost you were. How filled with pain and regret.

Now I knew. I finally knew what you'd been doing. What you'd become. What they'd done to you.

You chose to join them, true. That was your choice. But you were following the only path you could see. I finally understood what you couldn't tell me that day in the airport. I finally understood why.

I'm so sorry.

My sweet John. My heart breaks for you.

oOo

I saw you on that subway. You were on your way to meet me - and for the first time, I didn't want to see you. Not like that.

I saw you meet Joss for the first time… and then Harold. I was so happy for you. They understood you in a way I never did.

I hope that you can see that everything you'd been through up to that point had created exactly the John that Harold needed… That the "numbers" needed… That the world needed.

I'm glad you're no longer planning to join me any time soon.

They need you, my love. They rely on you. And you will be there for them until the bitter end.

And when the end comes -

I will be waiting.

 **oO0Oo**  
 **END**  
 **oO0Oo**

 _** More Prompts, Please! :-D_


	14. Say No

This was inspired by the conversation between Reese and Jack Salazar at the end of 'Liberty' (S3 E1).  
Reese: _"With your talent it won't be long before the CIA comes knocking."  
_ Jack: _"So what should I do?"_  
Reese: _"That's up to you. But in a few years, when the guys from Langley show up…  
Say no."_

 **oO0Oo  
Say No.  
oO0Oo**

One of the guys was approached by the CIA today.

I'm conflicted. On the one hand, they're right. He's exactly what they're looking for. In fact, he's over qualified. He has the skills, physically and mentally that they need - and then some. I'm just not sure he's emotionally prepared.

Most people think Army Rangers don't think much about emotions. Most people are idiots. We learn to control them - yes. We learn they have a place and a time. In our line of work, being able to control your emotional response can mean the difference between life and death. And John is very good at controlling his emotional responses.

In fact, most people think he's a loner - anti-social. They've never gotten to know him - hung out with him - gone to a party with him. He's a riot. He just doesn't feel the need to grab the spotlight like some of the guys do. He's got a quiet confidence I wish could be taught to some of the others.

It might be enough to help him survive what the CIA will do to him.

A man with his skills - they'll make him an assassin. It's not like he hasn't killed, he's one of our best snipers. But what they'll ask him to do? I'm not sure he's ready for that. It's not the same thing. I've seen what it does to people - what it takes from them. Not everything - just the part that matters. The CIA will make him walk in the dark. Not everybody comes back from that.

Should I have said something when the guys from Langley showed up? Maybe I should have told him to say no. Maybe he would have listened.

Or maybe this is exactly what he wants. Only time will tell.

Either way, he will be very, very good at walking in the dark.

 **oO0Oo**


	15. Who Pays for the Damage?

*The poor hotel manager in 'The Devil's Share" who demanded to be paid and then disappeared.  
(I don't know his nationality - IMDB only lists him as the hotel manager. I randomly chose a language on Google Translate that didn't have accents - simply for ease of typing)

 **oOo**  
 **Who Pays for the Damage?**  
 **oOo**

"I don't understand, Baba." the young man insisted. "A moment ago you were demanding to be paid! And rightly so! The polis in America cannot take our property and destroy it - this isn't home. You were right and brave to make your demands. Why do you now hide behind a locked door and tremble?"

When his father didn't answer, but continued to lean against the feeble barrier as if his legs would no longer support him, he continued. "You were amazing! I watched you stand up to the law of this land. You were ready to stand up to the _cete_ \- the Russians - if necessary. You are strong. You are the bravest man I've known. Why do you now cower in fear?"

His father finally turned frightened eyes towards the young man and whispered. "You did not see. You did not see the _canavar_ that came after. He put down the law. He put them down as if they were _ciliz_." He paused, trembling. "I saw his eyes. His eyes were dead. He brings death. He is already dead himself and he looks for others to join him. No, my son, we stay here and pray he passes us by."

The young man swallowed and fell silent. He had only vague memories of the monsters that had terrorized his village - vague memories that tormented his dreams. His father had faced them and barely lived. If one was now here - or one like them. There was good reason to fear.

His father gathered what was left of his courage but continued to whisper. "When it is done - _if_ we are passed over - _if_ any of the polis yet live…" He finally stood and moved away from the door, putting a protective arm around his only son.. " _If_ he leaves any alive… then - and only then - we will see who pays for the damage to the hotel." He paused and looked off into the distance. "The real answer is the one the monster demands: Who pays for the damage done to his soul?" He swallowed and finished quietly. "Pity that person, my son, for he will suffer."

 **oO0Oo**

polis - police  
Baba - father  
canavar - monster  
cete - gang  
ciliz - weak/feeble


	16. Charity

-Shortly after the events of "Deus Ex Machina" (S3 E 23)

oO0Oo  
Charity  
oO0Oo

"So when can I put in the order for the new play structure?"

Trinh sighed. "Maybe never. We don't have the funds."

"What are you talking about?" Bruce asked. "Last board meeting you said we were on track to have everything here, ready to build a week ago. What happened?"

Trinh shook her head. "I wish I knew. About a month ago, the funds from our main donor - the anonymous one - just quit coming. No reason given. No communication whatsoever-"

"Not that there ever was much… communication I mean - not funds. He sent plenty of that" Bruce interjected.

"Exactly." Trinh agreed, nodding. "We were warned not to depend so heavily on anonymous donors, but he… or she was so faithful for nearly three years! I guess…" Her voice trailed off sadly. "I guess I just hoped it would continue forever."

"I wonder what happened. Nothing changed on our end."

"Who knows - maybe they died…"

"Or lost their fortune somehow."

Trinh stared out the window. "I suppose it's silly to be worried about someone you never met, but I am. He seemed so passionate about our cause, something had to happen to make him stop."

"Well, let's keep this in perspective." Bruce reminded her. We still have enough money to function. All the basics are still in place. The Orphans of 9-11 will still keep plugging along - we just can't keep doing as much as we have in the past."

Trinh smiled at his efforts, but continued to worry about what might have happened to a person she'd never met…

oO0Oo

" _Since the numbers have stopped, it's not right that you should go on paying me as generously as you are."_

" _Since you give away ninety percent of what I pay you, I don't see why I shouldn't continue."_

 _God Mode (S2 E22)_


	17. The Best Surgeon in Najaf

A/N – This is a companion piece to the third installment of my story "Crunching Numbers" – Finch's POV. Sorry for my absence – as it turns out, full time work really cuts into the time and energy that used to be spent on fanfic.

oO0Oo  
The Best Surgeon in Najaf  
by PapayaK  
oO0Oo

My name is Farouk Madani. I was the best surgeon in Najaf. That is true.

All I ever wanted to do was bring my family to America. My wife and I discussed the possibilities of escape for many hours. We could not bear the thought of raising our small children in Iraq during the war– or of watching our parents age here. I wanted to send them all away – illegally if necessary, but Amira would not hear of it. She could not stand the thought of me being left behind in prison.

Finally we decided that, with my skills, I had the best chance of going – legally – to America and earning – again, legally – enough money to bring them all out of Iraq.

But that's not what happened. I did not fully understand the obstacles I would face; or how difficult it would be just to get a license, much less a job as a surgeon.

So I got a job as a coroner – thinking I would earn money, make connections, show that I had the skills to be a great surgeon. Soon I would have enough money to get the license and hospitals would line up to hire me.

I was naïve.

I barely made enough to pay my rent, and I still had to support my family in Najaf.

I had come to the point where – in spite of Amira's (and, I admit, my own) feelings about criminal activity - I was prepared to turn to illegal gains. I had access to chemicals – to certain drugs. I would sell only enough to reach my goals and then stop. I would carry the burden of my actions to my grave. Amira would never have to know.

Actually I had planned on beginning my life as a criminal that night – that eventful night that changed the course of my life. But it was a busy night. Two bodies came in. One that was at the center of a police investigation and, of course, they wanted autopsy results 'yesterday.' I didn't have time to even think about my decent into the criminal world.

Finally I had everything finished and cleaned up. I was just entering my last notes into the file… And then they arrived.

I didn't recognize the man pushing the stretcher, but that didn't surprise me. Transporting the dead is not exactly a sought after job. There's a lot of turnover. What did surprise me was his next action: He yanked off the sheet revealing a badly injured man – a _living_ person. Then he told me exactly who I was, and offered me a choice: I could have the thing I most wanted in the world – the thing I had been living for – thinking about every moment… If only I would do one thing – two things, really: save this man's life… and not ask questions.

It was, in the end, not a difficult question for me to answer, and I think, somehow, he knew that. I think he knew what I would say. I think he knew that I had performed surgery with scant tools and in less than ideal situations more times than I cared to think about. Often on patients whose backgrounds and circumstances were none of my business. And I think he knew – somehow - that all I really wanted to do was save lives.

I immediately got to work. He turned and left.

My patient was slightly conscious. Something I would have to work on before I started piecing him back together, but he surprised me by managing to focus on me and then he shocked me by speaking to me - in Arabic. If he did that with the intention of putting me slightly more at my ease, it worked. He thanked me for trying to save his life and then asked me to watch out for his friend. He started to say something about it being dangerous, but then the other man returned. He brought with him a case of various items that were not standard issue in morgues, but would aid me greatly in my work.

I nodded my appreciation and saw that he really did not want to be there. People who cannot stand the sight of blood have always been a bit of a curiosity for me. But I could see that this man was determined to do whatever was necessary to save his friend's life, so I handed him the bottle of chloroform and a cloth. It was definitely not the best way to anesthetize a patient, but it was a sight better than giving him a piece of leather on which to bite down.

"How much?" he asked in a timid voice.

I shrugged and continued cutting away clothing.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him pour the liquid carefully onto the cloth and then lay it gently over his friend's nose and mouth. The injured man looked up at him and breathed until his eyes slid shut.

Inwardly, I relaxed a bit. With the level of trust I had just witnessed between these two men, I had a hard time envisioning them as ruthless criminals who would kill me to ensure my silence.

After that I stopped thinking about the people and focused on the wounds.

oO0Oo  
end  
oO0Oo

reviews are awesome – reviewers even better!


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